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Barnyard Fable
Barnyard Fable
Barnyard Fable
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Barnyard Fable

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Can a chicken fall in love? This one does. He and the barnyard's martially-inclined duck live life on their own terms. The antics of these barnyard fowl and their irreverent observations about life and love will leave you laughing!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherLLT Press
Release dateSep 8, 2018
ISBN9781386463351
Barnyard Fable
Author

G. Lowell Tollefson

G. Lowell Tollefson, a former philosophy professor with a background in English Literature, served as a U.S. Marine in Vietnam. He now lives and writes in New Mexico.

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    Barnyard Fable - G. Lowell Tollefson

    The Red Rooster

    I’m a chicken. Nothing new about that. There are millions of us, probably billions. We turn up everywhere: crowing on a fence, strutting in a field, pecking for seeds, insects and stones along a roadway, getting flattened there sometimes, or even ending up between hamburger buns. They always say the same thing about us. Why does a chicken cross the road? To get to the other side, stupid! By stupid, they really mean us.

    Well, that’s the point. I’m not stupid. I guess I’m a freak of nature, since I was born with a mind. A chicken with a mind. Imagine that. God has a sense of humor. My head is a little larger than those of most chickens, and I’ve had problems with it too, gotten into a few nasty fights. Especially with some of the older hens when I was little. There’s something about provincial women. Narrow. But the problem gave me a unique perspective on the whole. I realized how misunderstood we are. I mean chickens, all of us. We’re a unique part of nature too, and I’d like to tell you about it. So I’ll begin at the beginning.

    First, I was born out of an egg, not a warm, comfortable womb. It makes a difference, kind of hardens your perspective on life right at the start. You can’t begin to imagine how cramped life is inside of an egg. An egg is a hard-walled uterus. It’s like being encased in cement. You’ve got your feet jammed up in front of your face like a conductor in a train wreck, and there’s nothing you can do about it. A certain amount of light, air, and moisture can pass through the shell, but you can’t imagine the joy that comes after the breakout! You hammer away from the inside with your egg tooth, and you’ve got temporary muscles in your neck that would intimidate an ox. Eventually the shell falls away in pieces and you push yourself out. Then you just lay there limp and wet as a jellyfish. Getting out of that cell is hard work.

    So you just lay around and dry off. That’s what I did. I don’t remember every detail. How much do you remember of your birth? Mom had hollowed out a nest in the sand on the floor of the chicken house, instead of in one of the boxes, and there were some downy feathers in it. But sand is made out of miniature rocks, and it was a relief when my feathers dried and the hard grit stopped sticking to my body. I stood up. Some of my brothers and sisters were already active and others were still coming out of the egg. There was one egg that was dark under the shell and cold if you fell against it. Disgusting. I don’t know why Mom hadn’t pushed it out of the nest. Didn’t smell bad though.

    It wasn’t long before

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